


Yellow Eyes Look Good On You

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: Chuck Norris wishes he was Sam Winchester and this is proof. (Prompt: When Sam Winchester plays Monopoly it effects the economy.)





	Yellow Eyes Look Good On You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a story by eloise_bright called Death vs. Dean Winchester Grudge Match '07.

Sam Winchester knew what his brother was good for, and he was about to put that knowledge to good use.

He sauntered up to the gates of hell, eyes flashing like tiger eye and gold dust, and the three-headed hellhound, his father’s invention, whimpered.

“Hi, Cujo. Move.”

It did. Sam Winchester told it to. That was the rule with most things.

Sam sauntered up to the reception desk and stared Persephone right in the eyeball. “You’re going to tell me where he is.”

“Yes, sir. Crossroad Demon Acquisitions, third floor, take a right, it’s the fifty-third hallway on the left. He’s in room 1121419219.

That was against the rules, giving the GPS location of an inmate. Why had she done that? She was so fucked now.

“And my father’s father?”

Persephone blanched, but she didn’t dare use the usual line on Sam Winchester. Not with those eyes on her.

“Downstairs.”

“Naturally. Thank you.” Those Winchesters were always gentlemen. Persephone blushed and ducked. Then he was gone.

Dean grinned when he saw him. “Took you five minutes, dude, you’re getting slow in your old age.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, we’re going downstairs. Hold onto this for me.” Sam tossed Dean the keys to the game room.

“Okay. And the plan—“

“You. Me. Grandpa. Monopoly.”

“ _Sa-am_!” This was going to be fucking boring. Usually Sam’s well-reasoned plans were cooler than this.

“This is hell, Dean, what do you want from me? Anyway, you’re doing the talking, I’m doing the ass-kicking. I expect the American housing market to go to shit. You sold your stock, right?”

“Yeah, what do you think I am? I was about to croak. I had my little brother to think about. It’s all in the off-shore.”

“Just checkin’. Good thing I’m busting you out of here before the dollar tanks. Let’s kick some ass.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Dean slid his sexy self right up to Mephestopheles Sr. like he was about to do some of the most amazing yoga ever seen by the likes of unman. And it worked. The devil knows a good deal when he sees one, who do you think he is?

Five more minutes and Sam had Boardwalk and Park Place. It was all over then, it was just a matter of time. Grandpa landed in jail without the little cardboard card to get out for free. This had never happened before. But then, Grandpa had never agreed to play Sam before. Damn that Dean bastard. It was the lips.

Sam snapped his fingers. The one with the lips shouted, “Booyah!” They walked away, right out the lobby doors with _Kansas muzac_ playing over the PA system.

Sam had to be rendered infertile before he had a fucking son, that was all his grandfather knew.


End file.
